Bastian's Storm (Surviving Raine 2)

“He’s going to act like a jerk whether we have a drink or not,” Nick muttered.

“Stop that!” Lindsay smacked his arm and then turned back to Raine. She placed her hand on Raine’s shoulder and leaned closer. “You know he’s going to have to learn to be around it, sweetheart. I’m not trying to be insensitive, but you both have to know other people are going to indulge occasionally, and-”

“It’s all right,” I snapped as I walked in from the living room. “Drink the fucking wine. I don’t give a shit.”

They all turned toward me with big eyes and fidgety feet.

“Bastian,” Raine sighed, “this is your home-”

I barked out a laugh and then shook my head. My home was a long way from here, and I didn’t really think a fucking bottle of wine was going to make this place that much worse. With a deep breath, I tried to calm my voice.

“It’s all right, babe,” I said. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist, kissing her neck gently just to prove a point. I wasn’t sure what the point was, but I was sure it needed to be proven to someone. “She wants to celebrate or whatever. I’ll cope.”

And cope I did—hanging on to my fucking iced tea glass like it was a life preserver—for all of about forty minutes.

“Sounds like Raine’s doing well in school,” Nick said as he slid the balcony door shut and joined me outside.

“Humph,” I replied through my nose. I kept my eyes on the grill, hoping he’d get the hint and go back inside. He didn’t. Fucker.

“So what are you doing during the day when she’s at class?” he asked.

“Jerking off,” I replied.

He laughed, but the sound trailed away when I moved my eyes to his.

“I guess it gets pretty boring, huh?” Nick shuffled back and forth on his feet and then leaned against the balcony railing. He took a sip from his wine glass and kept that stupid grin plastered on his face. “So where are you from, Bastian?”

“Chicago.”

“The windy city!” he exclaimed, like it was something I didn’t already know. “I was there once with my parents and sister when I was a kid. Loved all the museums. We rode that big Ferris wheel at Navy Pier and went to the top of the Sears Tower.”

It wasn’t worth the effort to correct him and say it wasn’t called that anymore, so I didn’t say anything. What was it about people’s need to tell you about their visits to a place you lived? He wasn’t the first to babble about Chicago, but I had seen a lot more of the alleys on the south side of the city than I ever did of the fucking museums.

“I’m from Pennsylvania,” he continued. “Pittsburgh, actually. My dad worked for a big container company.”

I ignored him.

“Mom was mostly a housewife, but she did a lot in the schools, too. She tutored kids and worked with the PTO—you know, bake sales and all that stuff.”

I could feel tension rippling up my back and into my shoulders with every word he spoke. My brain felt as if it were spinning in circles, trying to conjure up an image of a life like the one he had or of the woman who birthed me, but there was nothing to find.

“Do you still have family in Chicago?”

“No.” I clenched my teeth and hoped he wouldn’t go there.

“So where does your family live now?”

Of course he did.

Fucker.

“I don’t have any family,” I said.

“Oh, shit…sorry.” He scratched at his head and took another drink. “What happened to them?”

“Don’t know; don’t care,” I snapped. I jammed the tongs underneath one of the steaks and tossed it on its other side. “Change the fucking topic.”

After a little silence, I hoped he’d go back inside, but my luck just didn’t run that way.